The Day the Earth Stood Still
by Skyrvr
Summary: As four strange friends dive into a company ruled by an evil man who is fully convinced he is a god, they unleash their latent powers. Ethan Walsh, the leader of his small group of friends, reveals the Company for what it truly is.
1. Killer

And that was where left found her, a body in a pool of blood. Her beautiful face looking skyward and her black hair llying around her like a halo, a look of utter peace on her face. Ethan lifted his headphones up from around his neck and cuffed them on his ears. He cranked up the volume to where he could feel his eardrums pulsating and listened to the clashing of drums and the heavy strumming of an electric guitar.

He fished his cell phone from out of his pocket, and indifferently punched in the seven-digit number to contact his superior.

"Xavience speaking." A robotic voice crackled through the speaker.

"She's dead." Ethan said quietly, pulling down his headphones and coiling them around his neck. "Do you need anything else?"

"I apologize for your loss, Ethan. I'm sure you knew her well. Please come back to the designated rendezvous. Bring pictures of the body—and dispose of the real thing."

"Of course. And another thing, Xavience."

"What is it?"

"The computer may disguise your voice, but it can't impersonate who you really are. I'm going to track you down and kill you sooner or later. You should recognize that now, while your biological clock is still ticking. Say your prayers, boss." And he shut his phone.

He studied the body and saw the cause of death immediately. Three bullets in three different places: the shoulder, chest, and head. Obviously a sidearm weapon, by the looks of it. He dug a camera from his back pocket and took several photos of the dead body. She'd been sexually assaulted, he noted, and blood was caked on her forehead and arms. She'd fought back, but the attacker had been a strong man and had apparently overcome her feeble resistance. Rape disgusted Ethan, but it happened in life, he had to tell himself. He hated life, and he wished it would leave him alone.

Xavience would pay, he told himself. One way or another, Ethan would take the life of the accursed oppressor.

School – Some love it; most hate it. Ethan on the other hand, couldn't remember a day without it. He both hated it, and loved it.

Ethan Walsh's origin was confusing. Japan, Russia, and Germany could all claim the boy as their own. But he parked himself in London, France. England also had him.

His family branched out into all sorts of regions. From some distant relatives living in Alaska, all the way to South Africa. Being so, Ethan had almost every location imaginable at his fingertips. All he needed was money and a plane available to him, and he would be able to vanish from the country one hundred percent legally.

Ethan found his best friend Isaac Maldonado waiting in the hallway after dismissal.

"The skateboards are out back," his friend said, pulling his purple hoodie over his head. You left yours at my house. I figured you'd want it back."

"Thanks man," Ethan said, stuffing stuff from his backpack into his locker, "where're you headed after this?"

"My place," he shrugged. "Nothing interesting happening in town today."

"See you tomorrow, then," Ethan grumbled under his breath, not feeling in a very apprehensive mood. He'd killed an attendee to this school, and he knew that Xavience would execute the same plan as he had before. He would erase everyone in the world's memories of her. He did that well, Ethan told himself, making people forget things. But Ethan couldn't forget things—he _wouldn't _forget things. And that was why Xavience needed him on his side. If he couldn't overcome Ethan, than he would have to befriend him.

And a hell of a job he did at that. Now Ethan was hardly more than a paid mercenary, he had learned to grow accustomed to taking the lives of people. He saw that the less he thought about it, the less he worried. He was Xavience little pet assassin that preformed all the dirty work for him. When Ethan wasn't serving his "boss", he faked the attire of that of a casual sixteen-year-old boy. School, friends, even occasionally taking girls out to the movies and so forth. On the outside he was a simple, slightly bothered child. But on the inside of his cold shell, he was a soul of immense hatred waiting to pour out of him and engulf Xavience. Whenever he would find the man, of course.

Xavience had done a terrible job veiling his tracks when he contacted Ethan directly. Sometimes he would have his grunts or underlings meet him with new assignments.

Sometimes Ethan would even let the well-dressed men walk away unscathed, if he let them walk away at all.

Ethan exited his school and circled around to the back alley of the building to find his skateboard propped against the brick wall. He hastily grabbed it without even looking and threw it under his sneakers. He kicked off and jumped onto the road. He flew down the black asphalt and focused on the yellow strips of paint in the middle. Isaac, who was by far better at skateboarding than Ethan was, could have skateboarded through the street blindfolded. Ethan on the other hand had a hard time remaining in the center of the empty street.

He finally reached the end of the incline and then kicked off towards Town Hall. Town Hall was a huge building with cement that let it give off a prison-like feeling. A depressing fountain was in the front of the building. A small man, roughly the size and stature of Ethan, was dressed in a dark blue suit and tie. He saw Ethan approaching and cleared his throat.

Ethan kicked up his skateboard and tried his best to tower over the small man—mainly to intimidate. The man kept his cool.

"The photos. You have them, I take it?" the small man inquired dubiously.

"Right here," Ethan said hesitantly, fishing out a small envelope from his back pocket. Several printed and laminated pictures of the previous victim's body fell out of the envelope into Ethan's hand. He showed them to the small man.

"Not here!" he hissed. "Are you insane?"

Ethan pulled a pistol from a hidden boot holster. They really ought to increase the security of high school, he told himself. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I may be, but nowhere near the crazy schemes your little puppet master has us playing."

The little man's eyes grew wide and then grew pale as Ethan pulled the trigger. "It's nothing personal," he muttered, tossing the lot of murder photos over the dead man's body, "but if you want something done, do it on your own damn time."s


	2. Mourner

The shocked look of the black-haired girl stuck into Ethan's mind until his death.

Ethan had ransacked her into an alley, and pulled a gun on her. He'd told her to pass him her cell phone. She handed it to him, and he remembered tears streaming down her face. She'd been muttering something, he remembered. Something about death, and life. Ethan had never met the girl. He had only seen her in passing throughout the high school. He didn't even know her name.

"What is your name?" he asked her.

"If you're going to kill me, what difference does it make?"

"It'll give me another reason to keep you alive longer."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Your name, if you please."

She'd stared at him with cold, hard eyes. "My name is Life," she told him. "And if you take that away, you have nothing."

He glared at her, and in cold blood he pulled the trigger. Gore splattered against the wall behind her. He stuck the gun into the back of his pants.

"So thus even life eludes me," he told himself, arranging the body to make it look like a sexual assault.

Isaac Maldonado was never what one could call "normal". He talked too much, walked too much, and in full, dosed life to its uttermost edge. His skills with a skateboard were beyond elite, and his athletic attitude showed him to be an unfound prodigy in exercise.

But there was something about his best friend that irked him. Ethan Walsh was a nice enough kid—granted, he was cold and seemed nearly heartless—but he'd been Isaac's best friend since literally birth. There was nothing about each other that the other didn't know. At least, that was what Isaac supposed.

He lifted his purple cotton hoodie over his head, and kicked off with his skateboard. There was still one scene in his memory that stuck; something that bothered him.

He'd been at Ethan's house once, a few years back, playing video games late at night with him. It was still fuzzy—like a picture under a glass of water. The entire memory didn't make much sense, and it felt almost as if someone had plucked it straight from his head.

Ethan's phone had rung, and after looking at the Caller ID, he excused himself from the room and went outside to the hallway. Isaac remembered intense yelling between him and the person on the other side of the line. He got off the beanbag and went to the hallway.

"I'm not doing this," Ethan had said.

A muffled robotic voice answered him in a low tone that Isaac couldn't hear clearly.

"And if I refuse to kill him?"  
>Another answer; this one shorter and blunter.<p>

"Damn you!" Ethan hissed. Then in a quitter voice, he added, "Someday I'm going to find out where you're hiding that hideous face of yours. And when I do, don't think I won't obliterate it." He shut the phone and turned around to find himself face to face with Isaac.

Isaac's blood ran cold when Ethan glared at him with a penetrating glare.

"What are you doing here, Isaac?"

"Just seeing what the yelling was about," he raised his hands in defense.

"Nothing concerning you." He reassured.

"That's great," he smirked. "Who're you killing?"

Ethan looked at him with a blank face. "What?"

Isaac rose his eyebrows. "I'm not an idiot."

Ethan sighed. "You'd better get home, Isaac."

"How come? I thought I was staying the night."

"I said you'd better get home."  
>Ethan took a deep breath and stepped aside for Isaac to leave the house.<p>

Isaac rubbed his forehead; no matter how hard he tried, the memory was half-gone to him. Ethan was up to something no good, he knew that much. Something to do with killing, maybe. But, wanting to not get involved in anything over his head, Isaac kept his mouth shut the next day and every day after. And Ethan always acted the same way, like nothing was up in the world.

Isaac moaned at his forgetfulness. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe the whole memory was a dream—it most certainly felt like it. He crawled underneath his sheets and blanket and was asleep before his head even touched the pillow, thinking of skateboarding and kick flips.

Saturday was the holy sanctum of the week. Nothing to look forward to, and nothing to look back to. He stretched and kicked off his blankets, leaving them in a messy heap on the floor. He changed his clothes in haste—retaining his purple hoodie—and marched down the stairs. His mom and sister were already at the table, spooning cereal into their mouths.

"Morning," they all said at once, exchanging to each other. Isaac grabbed a bowl off the counter and poured his breakfast.

"What's up?" he asked his mom, who was reading the newspaper. He peered over to read the local news.

"A murder," she said, squinting. "And attendee to your high school. Lifelle Cherim, do you know her?"

Isaac's blood ran cold. The first thought that ran into his mind was the face of his best friend. He conspicuously shook his head. "Nope. Can't say I do."

"It says she was raped and shot three times. The killer's currently unknown. They're tracking him down, though."

Isaac, with a shaking hand, brought a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. "Where was she when they found her?"

"It doesn't say. But stay on your toes, Isaac. If you go out somewhere today, don't go alone."

"No problem, mom," he said, rising and putting his almost untouched bowl in the sink. His appetite had preceded him. "I might go to the skate park with Ethan. Is that okay?"

"Just stick together. I don't want to find you lying in a ditch anywhere."

"Whatever."

Isaac ran up the stairs, shoved his wallet in his back pocket and fastened his wristwatch. He hastily jammed his shoes onto his feet and dialed Ethan's phone number. He stood in the middle of his room and listened to the dial.

"… C'mon man. Pick up."

_"This is Ethan Walsh; I'm not available at the moment. Send me a text or leave a message and I'll try and get back to you. Thanks." _Then the memorable beeping noise flashed.

"Hey, uh, Ethan," he said, "call me. Maybe we could grab a bite to eat or something. Go to the skate-park or something. I've got nothing planned today… just call me, okay?"

Isaac shut the phone and crammed it into his pocket. He sat on his bed. Ethan couldn't have killed that girl—Lifelle, her name was. But could he have? He'd had suspicions before accusing Ethan of larceny or unright things. But murder was at the bottom of the accusations. Granted, he'd overheard a suggestive conversation a few years back. But he faintly remembered it.

What reason would Ethan have to kill someone anyway? He hardly knew the girl. They'd both seen her at School, he knew. But Ethan had never shown any signs of anger towards her in passing.

"C'mon, Ethan, pick up," he muttered to himself again and again, driving himself to metronome. He finally muttered the quote one last time and kicked a bean bag across the room.

Then his phone rang. Isaac dived.

"Hello?" he answered exasperatedly, flipping his phone open.

_"Is this Isaac?" _the voice was feminine.

Isaac sighed. "Yeah. That's me."

_"Thank God, I've been trying to reach you all day. My name is Veronica. I need to talk to you."_

Isaac coughed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but have we met before?"

_"I doubt it. Where are you?"_

"Uh, in my house," he said dubiously.

_"Great. Meet me in front of your High School in an hour. I need to talk to you."_

Isaac laughed uncomfortably and shut the phone. A murder had just taken place and now a woman calls and claims to want to talk to him? Like hell he was going. He pocketed his phone, still waiting for Ethan to call him back.

Marley was a girl with a bark bigger than her bite. The threats she made were always idle and when she did fulfill them it was always half-assed. Her red frizzy hair stuck out in all directions, and her face had more freckles than skin. She splashed water on her face with the bathroom sink to wake up. She opened the door to her bedroom and found her little sister Isabelle waiting at her door, arms crossed and foot tapping.

"What do you want, squirt?" Marley asked her degradingly. Isabelle extended a hand towards her.

"Pay up, sis. You wanted Ike Nighton to know you get the message you liked him. Well, the job's done. Twenty bucks."

Marley raised her eyebrows at her meddling sister. "Twenty? No way. You did that on your own. I didn't ask you. Now beat it."  
>"I don't think so. By the way, he'll be here in an hour."<br>"What did you tell him exactly?" she asked, knocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing much. Just that you have unnatural urges to suggestively attack him in between classes and that you wanted to have some fun this morning."

Marley groaned. "You're such a pain, Issy."

"Twenty bucks and I'll retract those lies," she smirked.

"Ten."

"Deal." She nodded.

Marley scavenged around her cluttered dresser and at last found a crumpled up ten dollar bill. She wadded it up into a ball and tossed it at her sister, who caught it and scampered off.

Marley was the eldest of three. It was her, Isabelle, and Jacob. Jacob was four, and still sleeping as it seemed.

Ike Nighton was in no way attractive to Marley. He was too into himself, too snobby, and just plain to _Ike _-ish. She just ignored him, most of the time. When she wasn't absentmindedly threatening him. She knew that Isabelle had completely lied about telling Ike those things—but it was worth ten dollars to get her to shut up about it.

She whipped out her laptop from under her bed and slumped onto her bed. An age-old ritual. She almost robotically moved the mouse cursor to the internet icon. She entered the chat room where she and Cecilia (her closest friend) had been talking. She scrolled to the top to where she'd inquired whom Marley had a crush on. Cecilia would not take no for an answer.

"I don't have a crush on anyone, Gosh. Why's it so important anyway?"

"If I tell you will it make you feel any better?"

"It might."

"All right. Ethan."

"Walsh?"

"Is there any other? Alright, your turn!"

"No one."  
>"Marley!"<p>

"All right. But after this, shut up about it."

Cecilia didn't write anything back.

"Isaac."

"Oh my God, really?"  
>"I said shut up about it."<p>

"Hey—but it's so cool! We could go on double dates and—"

"Cecilia…"

"Oh, right. But what do you think?"

"I'm not going out with him anytime soon. Get that processed through that mind of yours."

"But why not?"

"Drop it, Cecilia."

"Whatever."

She chuckled as she read the chat. Isaac was cute, she knew that full well. But Ethan, she thought, was just plain cold. Cold and loveless. She couldn't see how Cecilia, the bright and cheery girl that'd she'd known for practically forever, could possibly fall in love with such a dark character. She shrugged it off though. Everyone had their own cravings, she supposed.

A sudden abrupt noise downstairs made her jump. It sounded like glass breaking. Her mom wasn't the most coordinated person in the world; she broke a lot of their glass tapestry. Marley rose to her feet to go downstairs to help sweep up the broken glass. Then she heard a muffled scream, and a heavy wallop-like sound. Her hair stood on end and Goosebumps trailed up her arm. She heard ruffling downstairs. Her first thought went to Jacob. Was something amiss downstairs? She got out of her bed and slowly cracked open her door and peeked downstairs. The television was muted and a child's cartoon ran inaudibly on the screen. She slowly walked down the stairs and stood at the foot, in the living room. A caddie full of her dad's golf clubs was in the corner of the room. She grabbed one with a thicker end and cautiously walked into the kitchen.

Her mom and her sister were shot, piled on top of each other in the middle of the kitchen. She held a hand to her mouth to stop her from crying out. At first, she didn't believe the horrid scene she was seeing. She glanced around the corner in the kitchen. No one was there. She held her breath. Her heart was pumping more than what she knew was healthy for her. She knelt and examined her mom and sister's body. They'd been shot. Once in the head, once in the shoulder, and once in the chest. She let our short, meaningful sobs, and her tears trickled down her cheeks and onto her family's lifeless bodies.

"Oh my God…" she repeated over and over again. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…"

She rose to her feet, biting her lip. A shattered pitcher lay on the cabinets. It was dripping with blood. But her mother and sister showed no signs of being hit with a pitcher. The killer was injured.

Picking up her golf club—a feeble action, she knew—and slowly advanced into her foyer, and then as quiet as a mouse peered into the Office. She gasped.

A large, brutish man almost touching the ceiling with his tan bald head was stooped over the computer desktop, moving the mouse to and fro. He clicked on some things and typed in a few keys. She stood in the corner, completely traumatized and unsure what to do. Gathering whatever courage and on tired legs, she crept into the Office, rose her golf club, and swung it as hard as she could.

It hit the man straight in the side of the head, he toppled out of the chair, and his well-dressed body lurched onto the floor. Blood trickled down the side of his head. Not knowing if he was dead or not, she instantly dashed upstairs, sobbing. Why her? Why couldn't it have been one of those families she saw on the news? Why couldn't _they _have had their mother killed instead? She slammed open the door to Jacob's room, and picked him up.

Jacob was a small boy with a complexion the same as his sisters'. He opened his bleary eyes and saw Marley crying. "What's wrong?" he asked innocently.

"We have to go, Jacob. Come on!" she held him close to her, like he was something precious. Which he was. Her dad was at work and she had no idea what she should do. She held Jacob close to her and ran downstairs. She shielded him from the horrid sight of their dead family. She shot her head into the room where the large man was still knocked out cold. She opened the door, and shut it firmly behind her, her hands shaking as she held her little brother. He was all she had left.

But what was she supposed to do?

"You son of a _bitch!_" Ethan hissed through clenched teeth. He pinned the elite member of Xavience's company against a brick wall in the ally.

The man rose his hands in surrender. "Calm down! It's not what you think!"  
>Ethan pulled a gun from the back of his pants and cocked it. He stuck it under the man's throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull this freaking trigger right <em>now<em>."

The man's breath smelt like age-old beer. "She's still alive—Marley, her name was! Please, lower your gun," he begged. "One of our agents was scanning her dad's computer. She knocked him out with something heavy, he believed it was a golf club. She apparently ran away, but everything after that is unclear. The only people killed were her mother and her sister."

"I'm going to let you live," Ethan said in a low voice. "But deliver a message to Xavience, wherever the heck he is. Tell him that this is it. If anyone else gets killed at my school, I will literally drop out and dog his tracks. He knows I can do it."

"Then what's stopping you?" the man smirked.

"Test my temper, I dare you." Ethan urged.

"Lower the gun, Ethan. You don't want to kill me, do you?" he almost sounded like he was begging.

"You have no idea how much I want to kill you, Bruce. I've hated you the minute I knew you. These three years have been a living hell, I swear."

"Well go blow it out of your ass, why don't you?"

"You're picking your own death, man."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "I swear to God that if you let me walk away alive, I'll see to it that your School remains untouched by our company."

"Alive?"

"That would be grand, Ethan."

"Terrific. You wouldn't be needing this then would you?"

He lowered his gun and shot at his foot. Bruce let out a silent scream, but it was muffled through Ethan's hand. He rose it to cover his mouth.

"You're alive," he growled. "Now get your ass to Xavience's residing place and make sure that _no one _dies at my school. Do you understand me? Nod for yes. Remain motionless to have your brains blown out all over this alley here."

Frantically, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, Bruce nodded viciously. Ethan removed his hand and Bruce limped over to an all-black Buick that waited for him at the street. It screeched away, leaving tire marks on the street. Ethan placed his gun in the back of his pants and grabbed his skateboard from the side of the alley and kicked his way home. His headphones cuffed his ears, but the music was dull.

A half-hour later found Ethan lying on his bed and scrolling through his unread messages from Isaac. He pulled the phone to his ear and listened.

_"Hey, uh, Ethan," _Isaac's familiar cracking voice said uncomfortably, _"call me. Maybe we could grab a bite to eat or something. Go to the skate-park or something. I've got nothing planned today… just call me, okay?"_

Ethan dialed his friend's phone number and held it to his ear. The dialtone sounded three times, and Isaac answered.

_"Hello?"  
><em>"Hey, what's up?" Ethan said. It wasn't really a question.

_"Ethan! Thank God, I wanna talk to you man. What time is it?"_

Ethan glanced at his watch. "1:05. Why?"  
><em>"Have you had lunch yet?"<em>

"No."

_"'Kay, meet me at the Burger King in half an hour. I'll buy you whatever you want. Just be there."_

"Sure man, I'll be there."

_"See you then." _And he hung up.

Ethan slipped his shoes back on and sighed heavily. His life was a jumbled mess, he told himself. Kills on his main side of life, and hanging out with his friends in the background. He went downstairs and grabbed his skateboard again. He wasn't that big of a driver. That, and he didn't own a car. He lived with only his housekeeper—a Hispanic woman who spoke English with an accent so thick, Ethan could hardly make out anything she said. She was often gone, seeing how the house was—most of the time—clean, so Ethan was free to roam the world as he pleased. He could forge signatures and his street smarts gave him enough instinct to live on his own, especially around town.

He opened the front door and kicked off with his skateboard. The span of time to get to the Burger King was a half-hour on skateboard. He needed to talk to Xavience.

He dialed the 411 number and waited, steering his skateboard and weaving out of the path of cars.

_"411. How may I help you today?"_

"Patch me over to Bruce Adams please. London, France."

_"… Yes, sir."_

_ "Hello?"_

"Bruce."

_"You? Oh God, what do you want? They can trace this line."_

"Not mine. Secret Service number—not trackable."

_"Forgot. That was a hell of a bullet wound you gave me, kid."_

Over the phone, Bruce sounded tougher and more intimidating then he actually was. A large character flaw in his personality was the fact that he had a horrible sense of cowardice in the field.

"I want to talk to Xavience."

_"I'm afraid that's not possible."_

"Now, Bruce."

_"Ethan, you can't just call me expecting—d"_

"My phone isn't trackable. Yours is, may I remind you." He quickly weaved around an oncoming Sedan.

_"… Hold on please."_

Ethan kick flipped onto the sidewalk, and kept on there, seeing how oncoming traffic in the area was increasing due to lunch hour. He kept in a straight line as best as he could, the phone was silent. Then,

_"Ethan." _The mechanical voice sounded. _"How are you?_

"Xavience," he growled. "Skip the nice-guy. What with the murder this morning?"

_"Oh, the girl. Her father—Lincoln, a rogue in our agency. We'd meant for him to be home. Unfortunately, he was not. The assassin was forced to kill the witnesses. Seeing as the girl escaped, we're hunting her down now."_

"Why? Listen to me, Xavience. These people you are killing are innocent! They've done nothing! It's your own stupid fault you're being so careless!"

_"If you were here, I would have killed you for saying such a thing."_

"If I were there, I would have killed you on sight."

_"If I may suggest one thing, I would like for you to remember that you have never seen my face. You haven't even the slightest clue of who I may actually be. For all you know, I could be your fellow neighbor. Keep in mind, Ethan. Trust no one." _And the voice went dead. Ethan grumbled and shut his phone and jammed it back in his pocket. No duh, he'd thought of that in the last three years he'd worked with the company. He really didn't need his boss pointing these things out.

A few minutes later found Ethan in front of Burger King, he took off his headphones and carried his skateboard inside.

Isaac was sitting in a booth, picking at some fries. In a single glance, Ethan could obviously see that his friend was suffering from either hysteria, anxiety, or paranoia. Or, possibly a combination of the three. He walked towards his friend and slid his skateboard underneath the table. He'd left his gun back at home, in its usual hiding place.

"What's up?" Ethan said, standing, tapping his fingers on the desk. Isaac glanced up and winced. He held up a small wad of one dollar bills.

"Here, go get yourself something. We're going to be here a while."

"No thanks," he pushed the money away and sat facing Isaac. "What's so important? You left me half a dozen texts and called me a million times."

"Did you hear about that death? About that girl?"  
>Ethan's blood ran cold. He immediately knew what his friend thought. And the frightening part was that his friend was right in his assumption. "Yeah," he said concerned, "you scared?"<p>

"Nah. But I was just thinking… I think, it was three years ago. I was over at your house and we were playing video games. D'you remember that?"

Ethan felt a hard lump in his throat. Oh God, he really didn't want Xavience to carry out any demands to assassinate his closest friend. He would put himself as a literal human shield before he let Xavience touch him.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Your phone rang and you went out into the hallway to answer it. You started yelling at the guy."

"Yeah, it was my dad," Ethan lied through his teeth, "I remember."

"Your dad, huh? Who'd he want you to kill, then?" he said, glaring at him.

Ethan stared at his friend for a long time. He leaned forward. "It would be best if you forgot all about this," he said, trying his best to use the power Xavience had given him, "I never told anyone that I would kill anyone. Did I?"

Isaac pushed him away. "Like hell you did, man."

Ethan recoiled. Isaac had pushed him out of his mind with such proficiency, that—no, that couldn't be possible.

"Isaac," he tried again, "nothing happened that night. I just got into a fight with my dad over the phone. There was no insinuation about murder."  
>"What the hell, man? You and I both know something's up with you. This whole picture's jacked up. I'm thinking you killed Lifelle—that girl who was found to be raped in that alley. Tell me if I'm wrong."<p>

Ethan stared at him coldly. "May I borrow a few dollars? I'd like to buy a drink, please."

"Ethan, no jokes please. I'm the jester, you're the brute. Apparently you're more brutish then you let on. Have you ever killed a person?"

"Please, Isaac, I don't want to get you involved in this," he begged. Something strange was happening, and he could not pluck the memory from his friend's mind.

"Involved in what? You gonna kill me, too?"

"Only if I have to. Now it would be best if you forgot all about everything to do with this."

"No way."

"Forget!" he hissed. Isaac flinched in pain as Ethan stabbed himself into his memories. Isaac instantly forced him out and erected his defenses.

"Ethan, just tell me the truth. Have you or have you not killed a person before?"

A million ideas ran through Ethan's head at once. The first one was the run away from London and drag Isaac with him. That way they could both keep their lives. He crossed that idea immediately out. He could kill Isaac—no way, he was too mutual and sentimental. Killing a stranger was easy. Killing his best friend was something else. Would Isaac even believe the truth if Ethan told him?  
>"I've killed more than my fair share of innocents. And I've done more horrible things than probably anyone else on the face of the Earth."<p>

Isaac looked hard at him. "And I thought I knew you." He tossed him a few dollars. "Go get yourself a drink."

Ethan slid the money back across the table. "Come with me." He rose to his feet and glanced over his shoulder. Xavience knew what was happening. Screw him, Ethan told himself. Now was the time to act. To rebel. Xavience most likely already had men on the case. And here he was unarmed with his innocent friend. No more innocent blood would be spilled today, he promised.

"Why? You gonna blow my brains out, too?"

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now," Ethan reassured him. "I need a gun—or we're both dead. Now come with me if you want to remain alive."

"What're you playing it, man? Gimme one reason I shouldn't walk away right now."

"You'd be dead before you stepped out of those doors."

"Oh, so you'd kill your best friend?"

"You don't understand the half of it, Isaac. Just trust me, I want to keep you alive just as much as you yourself want to. Now _follow me_." He hissed the last words through his teeth. Isaac sighed.

"I dunno, man. You're not who I thought you were." He said, taking a deep breath.

"Just trust me."

They exchanged a long look. Then Isaac rose to his feet. "Where're we going?"

"My house. You have your skateboard?"

"Yeah, here." He slid his skateboard out from underneath the table. Ethan did the same.

"Go as fast as you can and don't look at anyone. Don't stop to talk to anyone. Do not make eye contact. Keep your eyes on the road. Let's go."


	3. Redeemer

_**Chapter Three**_

"Why'd you kill them?" Isaac said once they'd reached his house. They'd been awkwardly silent the whole ride to Ethan's house. Ethan tromped up the stairs and into his bedroom. Isaac stood at his door. He had his hood pulled over, almost veiling his eyes. Ethan pulled a gun from under his bed, and a holster. He latched it over his leg and buckled it.

"I've killed much more then her," Ethan said, loading his gun with ammunition. "But her death wasn't my fault. Neither was Marley's, or anyone's before them."  
><em>"Marley?" <em>Isaac exclaimed, his eyes popping out of his head. "What do you mean?"

Ethan swore. "Not Marley, her family. The Company's underlings' did it. Not me—trust me, I want this kill spree at our high school to stop just as much as you do."

Isaac stood up straight. "Marley's okay?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" he said, pausing.

"She's a human being, Ethan. Same as you and me. Know that there's a power out there stronger then you; and it may be able to kill you just as easily as you kill these people."

Ethan looked hard at Isaac. "I'm done, Isaac. I'm not killing anyone else, unless the need be. The Company's been corrupted. No more innocent blood will be shed on my account." He cocked his pistol and set it on safety, then sheathed it. "I'm leaving to kill the person who started all this. I'm going to get you and Marley, wherever she is, to a safe place."

"Like where?"

"I know people in high places, man. Don't doubt me. You'll be with me for the next few hours, and I'm going to need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Isaac looked hard at him. "For a few hours, of course. But only if you'll be able to explain exactly what you're doing."

"You're involved in it, too, now," Ethan warned. "I'll tell you on the way."

"To where?"  
>"To find Marley, of course. Keep your eyes open, and here," he threw Isaac a small handgun, "if you run into any trouble. Meet back here in," he checked his watch. "Three hours. If you have Marley, get back here as fast as you can. Don't try and explain things, you'll overcomplicate it. Leave all the telling to me. Comprehendo?"<p>

Isaac nodded and cocked the gun. He held it alienated in his hand, Ethan noted. The kid had never pulled the trigger on someone before, apparently. "You know how to use that thing, right?"

Isaac shrugged. "You pull the trigger and aim. Not that difficult. No way I'm killing anyone though."

"The time may have to come sooner than you think, Isaac."

Marley dashed through the woods, her feet burning and dried with blood. The sun was setting; damn, she wished she'd worn shoes. Every piece of rock, thorn, and shard of litter stuck in her feet. She tripped and jammed her foot on a jagged rock and dropped Jacob. Jacob rose to his feet.

"What's the matter?" he asked curiously, wiping the sleepy out of his eyes. Marley looked at him. In the past few hours she'd sobbed as much as she figured was humanely possible. She sniffed.

"There are some very bad people coming after us. We have to run away from them," she said to put it in basic terms for him. Jacob looked at her.

"What about mommy and Issy?"

"They went away," she said, trembling as she rose to her feet. Jacob had always been very small. She picked him up and he clung to her. She was able to hold him with one hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Away," she said in a soft voice that was barely a whisper.

"Away where?" he replied.

"Away from here, Jacob. Now try and fall back asleep, I'll move a little slower."

She slowed her pace to a staccato walk and Jacob soon drifted back into unconsciousness. She had no idea where she was going, or how she was getting there. But she wanted to get as far away from the death scene as it was possible. She quivered and more tears dripped from her eyes when the still image of her and her sister lying in a heap on the ground, lifeless and covered with blood. She held Jacob closer to her, not wanting to lose anyone else from her family. Jacob, she saw, was all she had. No other extended relatives, no other close extensions of family of any kind. Her grandparents had passed away several months ago, and now, Jacob and her were all that was left. She began to cry again.

They stopped for the day and Marley spent a few minutes making a clearing as Jacob began to fully wake up and compromise their situation. Marley bent some thin trees out of her way and sat on a stump. Jacob sat on a grassy patch of ground. For once in her life, Marley was relieved to live on the outskirts of town. Lots of wide open woods and greens spanning through her backyard. But that was at least a mile away now, maybe two. A morbid thought flew into her mind and she suddenly feared that she may not be able to find her way out of the forest. She took a deep breath. No; she was the adult now. She was the one in charge. She had to step forward and make some decisions. Not only for herself, but for Jacob too.

Jacob's stomach growled loudly. "I'm hungry," he whined. Marley groaned. She'd forgotten about food—in fact, she'd planned very little of anything. She'd maybe killed the giant brute in her family office, grabbed her brother, and fled into the woods. "Can we cook something like a hamburger?"

"Chill out, Jason," she said coarsely, "I'll get you something to eat."

"And drink?"

"Sure," she said, unsure if she meant it. There was nowhere to go. She didn't even know why she was running. That man was scary, she told herself, she was running because people were after her. They'd killed her mother and sister. What reason did they have not to kill her? She'd knocked that big man out with a golf club, and perhaps she'd killed him. But she'd hadn't known for sure… she looked at Jason.  
>"You feeling okay?"<p>

He nodded.

"Can you walk?"

He nodded again. "Where're we going? Where's mommy?"

"At home," she said bluntly, closing her eyes tightly to stop the tears. Then she heard something behind her. She immediately rose to her feet and found a large stick lying on the ground. She picked it up and prepared to hit whoever came out of the bush. She heard two voices, each sounding vaguely familiar. She pushed Jason behind her and someone came from out of the bush.

She shut her eyes and swung the stick.

Isaac toppled to his knees, clutching his stomach. He gasped for breath. Ethan emerged from behind him. He looked at the stick in Marley's hand and then to the struggling Isaac.

"God!" Isaac exclaimed, staring at Marley. " 'The hell d'you think you're doing?" he rose to his feet and lifted his shirt to examine his chest. There was a bleeding mark on it. Nothing fatal at the moment.

"Isaac? Ethan?" the almost broke down into sobs. She saw a gun clenched tightly in Ethan's hand and immediately rose her guard.

"Relax, Marley. This isn't for you," he said, tucking it in the back of his pants.

A tear dripped down from Marley's cheek and she broke into sobs. She sank to her knees and covered her face. She couldn't see Isaac like this. What in the world was going on in the first place? Was that really a gun that Ethan had? _What the heck?_

"What's going on?" she begged an answer from them. Isaac and Ethan exchanged a nervous glance. Ethan coughed.

"Your family's death was partially my fault."

Marley stared at him.

Isaac put out his hands in front of him. "I didn't have anything to do with it. I don't even understand anything myself. Maybe our friend here could explain all this a little bit. What do you think?" he said sarcastically, turning to look at Ethan.

His friend gave him a Gothic look. "This isn't the time, or the place, Isaac. I have a friend—not too far from here—who can protect you two from anyone who comes along from the Company. You'll both be safe. I swear it."

Marley began to tremble. What was he talking about? Was Isaac in this at all? Had Ethan killed her parents? Her mind instantly began to kick into overdrive with questions.

"Something big is about to happen," Ethan said eerily, closing his eyes and holding his hands up on either side of his head. "Something big and revolutionary. Good or bad, I really can't tell at the moment. But I'll get you two safe. Then I'll deal with this accordingly."

"Sounds great," Isaac murmured. "Not like we have lives or goals or anything to fulfill at the moment. Thank you _so _very much for screwing up our lives. You know, maybe you should go ahead and slaughter everyone we encounter while you're at it. You might fulfill _your _dream!" he pulled off a sarcastic smile and pulled his purple hoodie over his head.

"Do you two want my protection or not? If you're not with me, then you're against me and you're on your own. You've come in contact with me, and that's something They won't allow."

"They?" Isaac inquired.

"I'll explain when we get there."

"There?"

Ethan sighed irritably and glanced over his shoulder with visible paranoia. "We're going to visit one of my friends. I'm going to drop you two off, and then I'm off to South America to try and sort this out. Savvy?"

Marley felt something swell up inside of her and she rose to her feet, almost feeling like throwing up whatever food she still had in her stomach. "No!" she shouted at him. The look of questionable surprise satisfied her. "No! _Not _savvy! Did you or did you not kill my mom and sister?"  
>"<em>I <em>didn't," Ethan rose his hands in defense, "but as far as I know, my superiors did."

Her lip trembled. Who was Ethan working for? She turned to Isaac. "And you?" she pointed accusingly at him. He raised his hands in innocence.

"Hey girl, I knew absolutely nothing 'til about an hour ago. So don't be accusing me of nothing."

She sighed. Jason tugged on her pant leg. "Who are they?" he asked curiously.

She looked at them judgmentally. Then, not necessarily directing her words to her brother, she said: "Friends."

If they could honestly save her and her brother—her last living blood relative—then by God, she was going to do whatever they said, even if it meant risking her own death.

"You'll come with me, then?" Ethan inquired.

"If I want me and Jason to live, then I guess I have no choice, then, do I?"

Ethan grinned. "I guess you don't." The he turned his gaze to Isaac.

Isaac glanced his direction. "No needing to persuade me. My family's no doubt gonna hate me after all of this. But hey, I'd much rather everyone keep their life then live in ignorance, eh?"

Ethan shrugged. "It's decided, then. And Marley, this is no way to be traveling. We need a car."

6 Page


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